Scarlet Death

Reads: 157  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 1  | Comments: 5

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
This was inspired by Guillermo Del Toro's Crimson Peak.

Submitted: June 20, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 20, 2017

A A A

A A A


 

 

 

Scarlet clay beneath the snow. It seeps up into the white footprints, turning them to blood. It comes up through the floorboards, like the house is wounded. It looks about that way too; scarred and broken, cold and empty. In it's prime, it must have been a sight to see! Full of warmth and love and laughter. Now, it's full of shadows, secrets, hate.
 

 There's anger in the walls, fear in the air, and death amongst the rot. Only the two had remained to bear witness to the decay. Oh, what they'd seen and what they'd done. The house would keep their secrets, for their secrets were it's secrets, but those poor souls tied to the house...well, anything caged against it's will, will fight for freedom...even a ghost.
 

 Going to such a dismal place, I cannot imagine. Only love could draw anyone to choose such a home. Even a misguided love for a blue eyed angel, fallen from grace. Handsome of face, eloquent of tongue, and seemingly noble of heart. A secret, twisted love he shares with his sister. All they survived, all they did to survive, all they stood to lose were the truth to be revealed.
 

 Such heartache, bitterness, anger, and regret. All of this could only have but one end. A sacrifice must be made, sins are to be paid. Every hit given must be one taken in the end. Yet...it seems it is rarely the wicked paying for their sins. The innocent they stole, they paid again and again. It would take immeasurable courage and strength of will to defeat those two who'd already gone through hell. A redemption can be made, but at a high cost.
 

 Scarlet clay beneath the snow. It seeps up around the bare feet of the living. The white remains pure, beneath the feet of the specter. The tarnished silver white figure, just as handsome in death as in life. His anguished face evokes such heart rending sorrow. Another victim in this cruel tragedy. The angel fallen from grace finally returns home, dissolving in the snow flecked breeze. Having survived their own personal hell, the living must still soldier on, every day carrying the weight of all they'd seen, and all they'd done.
 

-"It is a monstrous love and it makes monsters of us all."-Lucille Sharpe/Guillermo Del Toro

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


© Copyright 2017 C A Sechler. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

Comments

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

More Horror Short Stories